~Elara~
Elara Voss hated Rowan Blackthorne long before she ever met him.
She hated the way his name slid too easily off people's tongues, spoken with admiration or fear depending on who whispered it.
She hated the stories—how he laughed in the face of rules, how he survived situations that should have killed him, how he left chaos and fascination in his wake like a signature burned into memory.
Most of all, she hated that the council had paired them together.
"You will work with Blackthorne," the High Chancellor said, voice echoing through the stone chamber.
"Or you will not work at all."
Elara didn't blink.
"Then find someone else."
A murmur rippled through the council.
"There is no one else," the Chancellor said.
"He requested you."
Her jaw tightened. That—that—was the moment hatred sharpened into something dangerous.
Her gaze snapped to the far wall.
~ROWAN~
Rowan Blackthorne leaned against the cold stone, boots crossed, coat flung open, waiting.
He had expected this, of course—the icy firestorm that was Elara Voss.
The council had warned him she was "unyielding," "brilliant," "too proud to tolerate fools."
Good.
That made her more interesting.
He caught her glare from across the hall and allowed himself a small smile. She looked like she wanted to obliterate him with her eyes.
Fine.
He liked that.
"You look disappointed," he said lightly, stepping away from the wall, deliberately slow, letting his boots echo in the hall. "I was hoping for outrage."
Her response was sharp, predictable: "I don't work with criminals."
Rowan's grin widened. "And I don't work with ice queens.
Yet here we are."
~Elara~
The council dismissed them, but she barely heard it. Her attention was on him—the infuriating confidence in his stride, the way he seemed to own the floor without even trying.
"This partnership won't last," she said once they were alone in the corridor.
"No?" Rowan asked, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "I was hoping it would."
"I will not cover for you," she said. "I will not bend rules for you.
And if you give me a reason to bring you down, I will."
Rowan's expression shifted, humor fading into something sharper, something dangerous.
"I believe you," he said quietly. "That's why I wanted you."
Her breath caught.
Rowan
He turned away, but his grin returned. "Besides, hatred makes things interesting."
She didn't like that.
Good.
Watching her walk ahead, rigid and furious, he felt a thrill he didn't often feel. She was a challenge. A storm contained in human form. And Rowan Blackthorne loved storms.